#spoilers but the branch was a bone snapping but we dont know that yet uwu

[knownangels]

canoe

It’s nothing. It really is. It’s nothing.

Benji repeats this mantra, again and again, as he ties and unties the red checkered flannel around his hips. Head tilted and brow furrowed, he stares at himself. Really, it doesn’t matter what he wears — it’s nothing. Nothing important, nothing special, nothing to get excited over. 

Except, as he contemplates himself into a mental rut, something traitorous rises up and tells him: maybe it is. Maybe he should get excited. Maybe he should get his hopes up. Because there was something he was trying to push down. Something squirming in the general area of his stomach — not butterflies, not just yet, but moving like it wanted to be. 

Or, no. That big, flattering smile was at the prospect of getting out on the water at all. Benji had seen the sports counselor excited before, wading waist-deep to chastise and “save” a camper who spluttered and laughed in the shallow end. Excited as he took a dare to dive into the lake, at the boozy parties the counselors tended to throw when everyone else had turned in. Excited when the sky opened up, Benji watching from the safe, dry interior of the medic cabin as he led a parade of kids out to stomp in mud and then hurriedly scurry back inside when the thunder cracked too close. 

Xavier must have grown up near water. He liked it. He couldn’t possibly like Benji; they barely knew each other. It would be nothing. It was nothing.

*

It’s something that first night Xavier drags a canoe from the shed down the sloping bank, Benji trailing after him with a smoke between his lips. It feels like fucking something, to watch him carefully balance it and glance over his shoulder and hold out a hand. It’s so something that Benji stumbles into the canoe without help, because the brush of skin seems too much. A wall he can’t even force himself to climb, for fear of what sits at the other side beneath dangling feet. 

He pretends not to notice the pout his cold shoulder earns. Pretends not to see a bit of that excitement seep out of Xavier to leave an ichorous puddle alongside the silt of the shore. As they shove off towards the center of the glassy black lake, Benji pretends not to look at his face cut and carved by moonlight, either. That feels like something, too. And if it’s something —

It can’t be nothing. 

*

The second, third, and fourth times aren’t nothing, either. For a solid week, it becomes their habit. No — more a ritual. Benji’s last group of campers doesn’t shuffle out of the barn until six. By then, they’re all tired from a long day of fun, ears ringing and voices sore from all the music they throw themselves into. They complain and whine about being hungry, being tired, being bored of songs (even though they never are). And the only reason Benji is patient enough to withstand fourteen childish voices whinging at him is because for the past four nights, Xavier has been right on time. 

Five past, a knock on the barn door. Benji pauses from packing up some of the instruments into their protective cases and casts a glance over his shoulder. 

“S’open.”

“I knew that.” Xavier says cheerfully, strolling into the low-lit barn with that signature grin. His fists are tucked into either side pocket of a camp branded sweatshirt, because there’s no room for pockets in his pants. Well — he hasn’t got much by way of pants. They’re shorts, really, and Benji’s not looking at them. Hasn’t been looking at them. Or his pale fucking thighs, either, really he’s not even sure how somebody stays that color out in the sun as he is, but Xavier never really seems to tan only freckle more and Benji —

Benji shakes his head. He laughs, too. “Sorry. Head’s all over the place today.”

Xavier lopes across the empty space of the barn — updated with acoustic foam and fairy lights, an old standing piano in the corner wheeled in courtesy of the camp’s psychologist on a favor — to sway before Benji. With his messy mop of hair, he looks like a reedy cat tail. Benji finds himself smiling at that mental image, Xavier’s head poking out of the water, green eyes dancing all mischievous. 

“Wanna guess what can clear it?”

“Smoke break.” Benji says, feigning seriousness just so he’ll get a glimpse of that dramatic, annoyed pout. “Kidding, mate. Haven’t got enough on me for a ferry ride, though.”

The look disappears in favor of that soft little grin. Xavier taps his chin. “Hm. Well—“ he drags out the word in a sing-song, doing a two-step stride around Benji as he finishes closing up a xylophone case. “Okay. I’ll give you a discount. But only this one time. And only for you.”

He ducks his head to avoid betraying the weird, embarrassing blush that earns. “Free rides, huh? Won’t make any money in the canoe business that way, lettin’ people mooch.” 

“I’m not letting people mooch.” Xavier says, rapping a knuckle against a drum that Benji hasn’t gotten to yet. It thump-thunks pleasantly. “I’m letting you mooch.”

It’s not nothing — but Benji’s so fucking scared to think of it as something.

*

Turns out he does a fair bit more of mooching than just their usual ride out to the center of the lake. Xavier unzips his hoodie (slowly, in a way that confuses him and makes his mouth dry) to reveal two stashed beers tucked into the inside. Benji retrieves them, fingers trailing over the cool, condensation-wet material of his shirt for maybe a second too long.

“You’re after something.” Benji accuses teasingly, although the words sound wrong the second they leave his mouth. Bitter. Like how a mouth feels, tastes after getting sick. A tang of something foul and nasty. He regrets it immediately, but the joke goes over normal for his companion.

They spend time, as they usually do, chatting mindlessly. Benji has told him so much in the four short hour-long trips they’ve taken this week. He knows so much of Xavier. Mostly, gossip about other counselors, because Xavier has such an adorably unapologetic knack for spreading it. But Benji knows about his sisters, his friends back home, a bit of Lark’s family problems because Xavier wants to be supportive and give advice but isn’t quite sure where to start. 

Benji shares, too. More than he has with someone that isn’t Maran or his own sister. He tells Xavier things he hasn’t even mentioned to Xavier. And holds, very close to his chest, some things that he’s been reminded of their past few visits. 

What do you want from me? He thinks, watching Xavier lean back in the canoe. The motion jostles them slightly, but not enough to threaten an upturn into the smooth, shiny water. Not even enough to bother, really. Because he looks frankly stunning at night, all the color of him washed with a dark blue tinge. 

What do you want, because it’s never just this? If it’s something — I might give it to you. It might hurt. Fuck, it’ll hurt, because this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten caught up, you might have heard. Have you heard any of that? Hope not.

Xavier talks and talks, movements of his jaw and throat making Benji guilty for drawing his gaze so specifically. He trails a hand off the side of the boat, pinky coasting through the water as they drift in lazy circles. The other holds his beer bottle, kept cool submerged up to the neck in lake water. Both his legs are over the side, too. Waterlaps up to his knees, and the canoe isn’t so large that Benji isn’t close; he can see the prickle of goose flesh over pale skin and wants to touch. 

Instead, he pulls off his own jumper and tosses it over Xavier’s chest.

He breaks off his sentence abruptly, something about the art counselor gone off in the woods, coming back with mushrooms she innocently insisted everyone try.

Xavier glances down at the jumper. Spreads a wet palm over it, brow pinched in confusion.

“I already have my hoodie?”

“You look cold.” Benji says, tucking into himself with a fist under his chin. He looks off over the stretch of the lake, past the far west bank and up to the smattering of trees and the massive hill off in the distance. The moon rises just over the rounded, capping it like a massive glowing nightlight in the sky. “Fuckin’ hell, man. Just put it on.”

Xavier sits up abruptly and does so, both hands working the sweater over his mop of red hair. Only once it’s on, his eyes unblinking as they stare at Benji, do they both realize he’s just — well, just fucking let go of his bottle into the lake. 

They both peer over the edge of the canoe, and then Benji falls back with a snorting laugh as the bubbles rise dramatically to the surface and pop pop pop.

“Not funny!” Xavier snickers, hand over his mouth. The sweater is tucked around his knuckles. He swipes Benji’s own bottle from his hand and knocks the rest of it back in one go, pausing to hiccup and then laugh again and go a bit pink and fuck is he cute. 

“You littered.” 

A figure in his peripheral catches both their attention; humanoid, it appears suddenly as a dot on the far horizon, at the top of the hill. Backed by the massive harvest moon’s glow, it looks eerie. Ethereal. 

“What — holy shit, what is that? Did one of the kids —?”

“That’s her then. Mother Nature.” Benji makes his eyes wide and serious. He points into the rippling water, towards the bottom of the lake, and glances over the side. “Oooh. Come to get revenge.”

“Don’t.” Xavier warns, his voice tight. Benji’s head snaps back towards him. He looks scared, bottom lip between his teeth and eyes wide. “Oh, fuck. Don’t even joke. What— who is that? I didn’t realize anyone was that far out here.” 

“We’ll go find out? Bit of a night hike.” Benji lifts one of the oars from the bottom of the canoe. “Just go n’ask. Hey, are you the vengeful spirit of the earth, here to enact punishment on litterers?”

“You’re being an asshole,” Xavier whispers, and sounds so serious about it Benji pauses. He drops the canoe and holds up his hands, then leans across to spread them over Xavier’s forearms.

“Mate, m’sorry, okay? I’m only fuckin’ with you. I know — listen, s’my friend. They live, like, a few kilometers out. On this big ranch. Their parents — well, reason Maran and I ‘ave the job, yeah? I promise. Look. They bring stuff in from outside that the admins don’t want us gettin’. Like cigs for me n’Ben, yeah? Proper smugglin’ like. Xavier, trust me. I’m letting you in on the secret. Even got a signal.”

Benji stands, somehow ignores the shaky grip of massive hands around his ankles to keep him steady as the canoe rocks. He lifts both arms above his head to form an O; the figure on the hill pauses a moment, then mirrors it. He waves afterwards. 

“See? My mate. I’m sorry, Xavier, okay? Don’t pout at me anymore.” 

“You owe me a replacement beer.” Xavier says, still pouting. There’s a little twinkle back to his sharp gaze, though, and Benji counts that a victory. “Maybe two.” 

“A’right, two.” His mouth starts to curl in a grin, and when Xavier opens (obviously to negotiate further) his own he holds up a finger. “Ah-uh. Two maximum. Don’t keep trying t’finesse me.” 

“Don’t keep falling for it.” Xavier responds cheekily, making Benji suck his teeth in annoyed respect. 

*

The trip back to the shore goes smoothly, although they keep their voices down to a quiet chatter. It’s late enough that somebody in security will be making rounds; they see the little golden dot of a lantern through the trees before it goes abruptly out. When it does, they make a hushed, giggling sprint towards the storage shed. Working together, they manage to get the canoe back in place at the top of the rack in near-silence. 

“Celebratory?” Benji asks, fishing his pack from a pocket and holding it up. 

“You live in my brain, dude,” Xavier sighs.

As he reaches for the pack in Benji’s hand, something in the woods snaps a twig. Or a branch, by the fucking crack of the sound. It echoes a bit through the trees. Benji’s brows snap up into his hairline. 

“Fat fuckin’ deer, that,” he teases after a moment, wanting to wipe away the look of startled fear on Xavier’s face.

And it works. Xavier snorts, and then he laughs. Then he’s properly wheezing, his hands on Benji’s shoulders to steady himself. It sounds a bit nervy, like the figure on the hill still was spooking him and only just now has the discomfort abated. Benji feels guilty.

Benji feels — 

Something. When Xavier finishes that gorgeous, contagious sound, there are little beads of amused tears in his eyes. And his nose is red; maybe from the laughing, maybe from the chilly night air. Benji sways forward, entranced, and of course that’s the exact moment Xavier pulls away and turns to lean against the canoe rack. He slides slowly to the ground, fingers lacing through fringe as he shakes his head. 

“Oh my fucking God. You’re so lame. That wasn’t even funny.” He huffs again. “Holy shit, I’m jumpy.”

“It was kind of funny, c’mon.”

“No.” Xavier insists, tilting his chin to stare upwards. It’s the only time Benji’s had some sort of height on him. It makes his stomach flip. “No, it really wasn’t.”

“You laughed so hard at it, though?” Benji says, sinking to his knees next to Xavier’s sat figure. “You properly fucking snorted over it, mate.” 

Xavier shakes his head wordlessly, green eyes sparkling with challenge as he sticks to his guns. Stubborn fucking bastard, Benji thinks fondly. Keeping the bit going. 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Benji reaches up to cup Xavier’s cheek in a cool palm. There’s a bit of dirt on his palm from the way he slid to the ground, from handling the canoe. A little streak glances over Xavier’s chin from his thumb. Both of them have stopped breathing. Benji’s vision buzzes a little at the edges; the soft, mindless excitement of touching someone always does that to him. Of being touched. Which he is — Xavier’s hand has drifted up to wrap around his wrist. Not pushing or pulling away, but just touching. 

“Are you — did that beer get to you?”

Xavier laughs, eyes squinting. “No, dude. You’ve seen me do a keg stand.”

“You fell over.” 

“I looked so fucking cool for like, five whole seconds though.”

His nose is still red. Benji leans forward and touches their foreheads together. He hears the hitch of breath, and he isn’t sure who it belongs to. Whose lungs it leaves; he’s sane about that, the unknowing. Their noses brush, and Xavier winces a little from the contact with the sore bridge, so Benji — 

Benji adjusts, chin tucked, to nudge his cheek and bring their mouths together. 

It’s more than something. Definitely not fucking nothing. Especially when he slings a knee over Xavier’s thigh to settle into the warmth of his lap, long legs tucked. When he cradles either side of a freckled face as they kiss. Xavier makes a soft noise into the even softer meld of their mouths, and that’s all it takes for it not to be soft anymorre. Benji’s lips part. A tongue teases against his. Then, also before he knows it, he’s being tasted so thoroughly he starts panting. They’re kissing properly now, fast and needy with breath heavy and shared. And he’s panting. A big hand winds up his shoulder, catches over the thread-bare edge of his t-shirt, and winds into his hair. 

It feels so good Benji groans and forces himself away, eyes shut for a moment and lips pressed together as he gathers himself. 

“I haven’t —“

His eyes snap open.

“Done that before?” Benji asks, unable to keep the note of incredulous horror out of the question. “Fuckin’ hell, man. Please tell me I didn’t steal that in a dusty shack, of all places.” 

Xavier swallows, his eyes seemingly stuck to Benji’s mouth as he talks. He shakes his head and the connection of their gazes then is almost too much. Benji feels like buzzing out of his fucking skin. 

“No, I just — not with. Like.” His calloused hands trail up Benji’s thighs, dip slightly under his shirt. Benji arches into the touch, sighs when warm palms wrap his ribs to settle on his back, between skin and fabric. “Um. Another guy? You.”

You.

Something crashes loose in Benji’s chest. It rattles and rocks and settles in his gut, heavy with fear and arousal alike. He feels guilty for the latter, bitter about the former. He tries to temper the emotions, but something must show; Xavier looks anxious all of a sudden. 

Been here. Benji thinks, mulling the thoughts over. He can’t help but swipe a thumb over a pink, shiny bottom lip. Been here, haven’t I? Little summer side business before you go back to somebody soft and pretty, maybe? Happened before. Fuck, Xavier, please don’t do this to me.

But, Benji knows he does inevitably does it to himself. Every time. 

He leans forward and catches Xavier up in another slow burning kiss. Despite the alarm bells in his head, despite the anxiety of this maybe being just like the last. They kiss until the moon starts to dip low, and then they talk a bit more after that and kiss and talk and Benji tries, really, not to think of Xavier like those past experiences, but it’s a pattern hard to break.

He’d like to — because it doesn’t seem like nothing when Xavier tilts his head back with that soft, excited grin (the same, he thinks, as when he’d offered to take Benji out on the water).